Hardhand: The Life and Times of King Harwyn Hoare
by wildlingking
Summary: This book tells the life story of the legendary King Harwyn "Hardhand" Hoare, the grandfather of Harren the Black, from his childhood on the Iron Islands all the way to his reign as the first King of the Isles and the Rivers.
1. Prologue

**Prologue: Childhood on the Iron Islands**

I am Harwyn Hoare, the first King of the Isles and the Rivers, known among my Ironborn brethren as the Hardhand. I was born on the island of Orkmont as the third son of King Qhorwyn Hoare, ten years prior to the Doom of Valyria. In my life I have been a prince, a raider, a slave, a sellsword, a king and a conqueror. I have been hailed as a hero and cursed as a tyrant. I have left thousands dead in my wake, and with chains of iron I have forged a greater legacy than any Iron King before me. This is my story.

The first memory I have of my childhood is from the day that my mother died. If memory serves me right it was a cold and foggy day, the beginning of a winter that would last for five years. I was no older than four years that day, a silly little kid with no real grasp of the world beyond the walls of Orkwatch, as our ancestral home was called. My father Qhorwyn was a tall and lean man with a plain face and the typical dark eyes and hair of the Hoares, and mild-mannered and shrewd in nature. That day he took me, my older brothers Halleck and Harlan, and my then two-year-old younger sister Hanna to the beach to see the waves claim the dead body of our mother, Queen Gysella. I hardly even remember what she looked like, only her pale and bluish skin and the grey robes she had been clad in. We were told that an illness had taken her, and that was as much as I ever learned about the cause of my mother's death.

"The Drowned God will welcome her in his watery halls," Qhorwyn said as Gysella disappeared under the waves, and I remember Harlan crying. Personally, I was too young to grasp the finality of her death back then, believing that one day mother would simply return to us from below the waves. It took years for me to fully realize that she was gone forever, and by then she had become a distant memory in my mind.

I was a restless and unruly boy in my childhood, always getting in trouble of one sort or another. I would often bother the servants and retainers of Orkwatch by stuffing their boots with horseshit, leading a flock of chickens into their rooms while they were away, putting worms into their stew, or something else of that nature. My father wasn't particularly harsh when it came to punishing me for my belligerency, at worst giving a few stern words and then locking me into my room for the rest of the day. Looking back now it is clear to me that King Qhorwyn never had much interest in parenting, and disciplining me was just an inconvenience pulling him away from his favorite pastime of planning the kingdom's economy with his advisors.

If there was one thing I did however, that never failed to truly raise the ire of my father it was fighting with my brother Harlan. Harlan was two years older than me, and while he certainly was a more well-mannered and proper child than I he sure did know how to annoy me with his subtle and cunning ways. A mocking grin when I got in trouble for something he had squealed on me, or a whisper into my ear about how stupid I was when I struggled with the reading and writing lessons given by the old and hard-of-hearing Maester Elbert. Often Harlan's teasing would get me to start a fight with him, and then afterwards he would tell our father that I had gotten aggressive for no reason. Usually such quarrels were quickly forgotten and moved past, but there was one time that our fighting got significantly more serious than ever before.

It was a cold and rainy day towards the end of the winter that had already lasted for four years. The food reserves had begun to run low even in Orkwatch, leaving the people of the castle feeble and depressed. As the king's son I would be among the last people to be affected by such things, but even I remember being left hungry by the meager meals of salted fish. Perhaps that goes to partially explain why both myself and Harlan were so on-edge at this particular point in time. I was eight then, Harlan was ten. I had just recently started practicing swordplay with the castle's master-at-arms Fergon Tawney, a haggard middle-aged man with a sour face and humorless nature. After my training session that day I was heading towards the armory to put away my sword and shield, when I heard the voice of Harlan behind me.

"You fight like a girl with palsy," I remember him saying with a mocking tone. I stopped in my tracks, and instead of continuing to walk towards the armory I turned around, screamed from the bottom of my lungs and charged against Harlan. To this day I remember the surprised and frightened expression on his face as I slammed against him with my shield. We both tumbled to the muddy ground, but I was the first one back up and immediately struck my sword against Harlan's forehead, sending him back down as he tried scramble up on his feet. Thankfully it was just a dulled training sword, or else I may have killed my brother then and there.

Halleck, then thirteen years old, quickly rushed to pull me away from Harlan and took the sword from my hands, throwing it to the ground. However, Harlan then grabbed the sword and begun swinging it at me with frenzied screams. He managed to get in a few painful hits on my ribs and legs before being subdued by Halleck. At that point Fergon had also rushed in to help keep me in line.

"Damn you both!" Halleck roared with the kind of power and authority I could only admire and respect. "You are brothers, not enemies. Get it to your heads before one of you ends up killing the other!"

Clearly Halleck wanted Harlan and I to make peace, but father had quite a different solution in mind. Instead of taking us into a room together to talk things through as I had expected, Qhorwyn decided to send Harlan away as a ward to one of his vassals, that vassal being Torgon Greyjoy the Lord Reaper of Pyke.

I remember feeling conflicted while watching the longship that took my brother to Pyke disappearing into the horizon. Harlan and I had always had our quarrels, but there had been moments of good between them as well, rare as they were.

"You'll see him again, Harwyn," Halleck calmly assured me, tapping his hand lightly on my shoulder. "And then you can make peace with him."

In the years following I started to leave my pranks and belligerency behind, concentrating more and more on my training with the sword. Harlan had not been exactly wrong when he had ridiculed my fighting skills, as I was by no means a natural talent. However, I was determined to prove him wrong, and through hard work and sheer stubbornness I developed my skills. First with the sword, then with the axe, and finally with the bow. As a thirdborn son of the Iron King there were very few prospects in life for me aside from being a warrior, so I wanted to be a good one. "Discipline, patience, decisiveness. These are the things you must learn if you wish to be a great warrior," Fergon always told me, and those words stuck with me.

As the next summer came trade on the Iron Islands begun to flourish once again, with merchant ships from Seagard, Lannisport, Oldtown, Arbor and sometimes even from further beyond visiting Orkwatch every week. I loved dwelling at the harbor during those days that the foreign ships were docked there, watching the crewmen unloading gold, silver and exotic goods from their holds and then loading them again with the iron, lead and tin they had traded their goods for. I often tried to converse with the captains of these ships, and while many ignored me or outright rejected my company, some did humor me by sharing their tales from the many seas they had sailed and the distant lands they had visited. By far the most fascinating of these tales was told to me by a Dornish trader named Gerdan, who arrived to Orkwatch a week after my eleventh nameday. He was an experienced seafarer who had sailed everywhere from the Shivering Sea to the Jade Gates of the distant east, or so he claimed at least. He told me that a year prior to our meeting a great cataclysm had happened in Valyria, its fiery mountains known as the Fourteen Flames having all exploded at once, filling the air within hundreds of miles with fire, ash and molten stone. With theatrical gestures and almost poetic vividness to his words the Dornishman described to me how even dragons had burned as the flames consumed the great cities and fertile lands of the dragonlords, and how chaos was bound to unfold in Essos now that the mightiest empire that had ever been had fallen. Back then I didn't know how much of the man's story was true, but regardless of that it sparked in me the interest to see the world beyond the shores under my father's rule.

As the prosperous trade kept making King Qhorwyn wealthier and wealthier he kept investing more and more of that wealth into expanding his fleet and forging new weaponry. I remember thinking that my father was probably preparing for some great war to come. Of course, I would eventually come to learn that he had no such intentions, but at the time I would daydream about sailing to war against the kingdoms of the green lands side by side with Qhorwyn and Halleck, maybe even Harlan. I had heard countless times the stories of the legendary raiders and iron kings of the past, from the Grey King himself to Qhored the Cruel to Dale the Dread to Hilmar the Cunning, and I hoped that one day my own name would be revered in such glory as well.

I was thirteen by the time I saw Harlan again, as we traveled to Pyke to attend the wedding of Lord Torgon's eldest son Wynton Greyjoy and his bride Amanda Saltcliffe. Harlan had grown a lot since leaving Orkwatch, now almost a man grown, towering myself with a whole foot and sporting a thin stubble around his mouth. I had expected him to be hostile towards me, or at least annoying like he used to, but instead he showed hardly any interest in me whatsoever. He did briefly ask how I was doing while chatting with me and Halleck, but for the most part he concentrated on telling about the hijinks he had gotten into with his friend Mandon Greyjoy, the younger brother of Wynton. I also did apologize to him later that night for what had happened between us five years ago, but Harlan merely shrugged it off and said that we had both been dumb kids back then. He seemed almost like a different person from the annoying big brother I once had, but at least there was peace between us.

Wynton Greyjoy's wedding was where I saw for the first time Alys Greyjoy, the younger sister of Wynton and Mandon. She was a year older than me, a pretty girl with lush dark hair and enchantingly beautiful blue eyes. It was the first time I ever felt such desire and infatuation towards a girl, but I was nowhere near enough of a man to act upon those feelings in any meaningful way. I talked with her briefly and she was kind and friendly towards me, but that was about it.

It was also during this wedding that I first met Ravos Drumm, the great-grandson of the famous Hilmar the Cunning and wielder of the Valyrian steel sword Red Rain. He was a tall and pale man with dark hair, pointy beard and a wolfish grin. At the time he was on his late twenties and already had a fearsome reputation as a reaver. I listened eagerly as he drunkenly recounted his stories of raiding and pirating on the Narrow Sea.

"So, do you fancy to be a reaver once you've grown up, Prince Harwyn?" Ravos asked me with a sharp smirk on his face.

"Aye, I will sail and raid further than any ironborn before me," I boasted confidently, to which Ravos chuckled amusedly.

"And have you ever captained a longship, my prince?"

"No, not yet."

"Well, you should learn to do that before you get too cocky, boy."

And so, as we returned to Orkwatch I began to pester and beg my father to give me a ship and crew to captain. He refused my requests, saying that captainship was something to be earned. However, he did allow me to join the crew of the Opulent Lady. She was one of the many longships in King Qhorwyn's fleet tasked with buying and transporting timber from the lumberyards of the Rock and the Riverlands to the royal shipyards of Orkmont.

The Opulent Lady was captained by an old and hardened seaman named Regnar, who had in his youth been a raider and a sellsail. When I joined his crew of fifty men Captain Regnar was on his mid-sixties, and his harsh lifestyle had certainly not made him look any younger. He was bald and wrinkled, his bushy beard white as snow and his skin reddened and roughened by decades of sailing. However, the old man still retained some strength and pride in his frame and posture. I have no doubt it was at least partly because of my royal status, but Captain Regnar treated me with respect and we got along well from the very beginning.

I had of course sailed many times in the past with my father as he had visited some of his vassals, but it was working on the Opulent Lady that made me truly understand what it was like to work in a longship's crew. Life on the seas was harsh as I quickly learned, and there were several days among those first few weeks-long voyages during which I thought I would die on the sea and never set a foot on solid ground again. However, over the months after joining the crew I learned to pull my weight and endure the hardships of sailing like an ironman should. It was also during those months that I came to realize that even the greatest captain is nothing without a strong crew he can rely on. And as part of Regnar's crew I befriended and came to trust many good men, such as the Raging Ralf, Urrathon Ironmaker, One-eyed Jason, Toothless Tom and Norne the Giant. Some of them were old and hardened men like their captain, while others were almost as young as I was.

I had been a part of the Opulent Lady's crew for about six months when we happened to visit Seagard on one of our voyages. The coastal town governed by House Mallister was larger and arguably prettier than any of the towns one could find on the Iron Islands, but what fascinated me the most were the banners and soldiers in the colors of House Durrandon decorating its streets. Of course I already knew that the Storm Kings had conquered the Riverlands centuries ago, but to see with my own eyes their authority reaching all the way to this town a thousand miles away from Storm's End was awe-inspiring. I did not yet know how frail that authority was.

As we made our way to spend the evening in one of Seagard's taverns, One-eyed Jason told a story about a war that had taken place in the Riverlands some forty years prior. A bastard knight named Ser Addam Rivers had proclaimed himself King of the Trident and risen in rebellion against the Durrandon rule. However, such major river lords as Mallister, Blackwood and Tully had remained loyal to the Storm King, swiftly crushing Ser Addam's rebellion. One-eyed Jason told he had been one of about three-hundred ironmen hired by Lord Mallister to cleanse his lands from the rebel forces.

"The bastard put us to scour the rebel hideouts from the marshes north of Oldstones, while marching south with his own men to join Lord Blackwood's host," Jason grumbled, shaking his head slightly. "The worst months of my bloody life hunting those rats in the wetlands, but at least the pay was decent."

"During the times of Qhored the Cruel ironmen would've used such an opportunity to conquer instead of fighting as sellswords," Urrathon Ironmaker remarked dryly. He was a strong young man on his late teens, clearly just as inspired by the glorious past of the Ironborn as I was.

"Well those times are long past, if they ever were more than stories," Captain Regnar said calmly. "A man must do what is required of him to support his kin. Once that may have been raiding, now it is something else."

"Trust me, you boys have it good now," Toothless Tom lisped in-between gulping his ale. "It's better to make a decent living with hard work than to die in needless wars."

"Conquest isn't needless," I argued eagerly. "Our ancestors knew that strength in arms is what truly matters, and those who have it control the world. Blades are meant to be blooded, and if we did that today we could still make the weak men of these green lands bow to us."

"Careful, prince," Regnar chimed in with a thin smirk. "You're going to get us thrown out of the tavern with talk like that," he said amusedly, and we all laughed.

The first time I returned home to Orkwatch for longer than a day or two was after having worked on the Opulent Lady's crew for little over a year. The occasion in question was Halleck's wedding with Marla Blacktyde, the only daughter of Lord Maron Blacktyde, and lords from all over the Iron Islands had been invited to witness the royal wedding. This occasion was also when my father betrothed my shy and withdrawn younger sister Hanna to Qarl Volmark, the son and heir of Lord Loron Volmark.

I remember watching with awe and envy as the priest of Drowned God blessed Halleck and his bride with seawater, announcing them husband and wife. After the ceremony my older brother held a powerful speech for the attending lords, and I remember thinking that he would one day make a great king. Inspired by Halleck's display of confidence and charisma, I mustered the courage to approach the beautiful Alys Greyjoy. It was the first time we saw each other since her brother's wedding over a year ago, and while I had certainly grown to be more of a man since then her presence still made me feel nervous. I told her about my adventures on the Opulent Lady, making it all sound perhaps a bit more exciting than it truly was, and she in turn told me about the goings on of Pyke, my brother Harlan being included in many of her stories. We got along well, and towards the end of the evening we made our way to the beach together. It was chilly, and I offered her my cloak. As we sat there watching the crescent moon shining on the night sky, I told her about my feelings. I can't recall which words exactly did I use to confess my love, but no doubt they had all the elegance and finesse of a lovesick teenage boy. However, what I will always remember is Alys's response. She gave me a gentle kiss on the lips and smirked seductively. "When you're a man grown, Harwyn Hoare, come claim me."

I returned to work on the Opulent Lady again after the wedding, but my head was in the clouds with imagining a blissful future together with the fair lady of my dreams. My crewmates took notice of this as well and were quick to deduce something had happened at the wedding. "I think this is the quietest our young prince has ever been," Raging Ralf noted with his gruff voice just a few days after I had re-joined the crew. "Lad must be in love."

I continued to work on the Opulent Lady, and by now I was more at home sailing the seas than on land. A month or two after my fifteenth nameday something significant happened as we were getting back from one of our journeys to Banefort. One morning we woke up after a night on the sea to find Captain Regnar dead, his heart having given out in middle of the night. We gave our farewells to the captain and threw his body to sea so he could find his way to the watery halls.

"Drowned God had a need for a strong oarsman," Toothless Tom said with a doleful tone as Regnar's corpse sank under the waves.

"What is dead may never die," the whole crew spoke in unison.

Then it was time to choose a new captain for the Opulent Lady. First to speak up was One-eyed Jason. "I sailed together with Regnar for nearly three decades," he boasted. "He trusted me more than any other man, and I was always loyal to him. Make me your captain, and I will promise to lead you with the same experience and reliability that Regnar did."

Much of the crew muttered approvingly, and a moment of silence followed. "Anyone wish to challenge Jason's claim to captainship?" Raging Ralf asked sternly. I glanced around myself, surprised to see that no one was going to do it. So, I stood up myself.

"I challenge," I spoke up confidently, gathering the attention of the whole crew. Some looked at me with surprised expressions, others with doubt or amusement. "I know I am young, barely a man in many of your eyes. However, I have been raised a warrior, and the sea is in my blood. Same blood runs through my veins as once did Qhored the Cruel's, and I am hungry for glory! Jason is an experienced seaman and would make a fine captain, I do not deny that, but what he offers you is just more of the same. Under his captainship the Opulent Lady will remain nothing more than a merchant ship, offering you all a pay just good enough to make do. I could give you much more than that, as the captain of this ship I could give you the world! You would no longer have to be content with living modestly, because I would take us to riches that could make you all live like princes!"

My words were received with cheers, distinctly louder than the reaction Jason had gotten. The old man narrowed his one eye as he glared at me. "Then we shall have a vote," he said calmly.

"Those who are for One-eyed Jason raise your hands!" Raging Ralf commanded. Twenty and two men raised their hands, among them Toothless Tom. "And those for Prince Harwyn, raise your hands!" Ralf roared, now raising his own hand. Twenty and seven men raised their hands, among them Urrathon Ironmaker and Norne the Giant. And so, I became the captain of the Opulent Lady.

Just a few weeks after I had been made captain news arrived to the Iron Islands about Riverlands being engulfed by another rebellion. A woman named Jeyne Nutt had been crowned Queen of the Trident, starting a war with the Storm King. Upon hearing these news I immediately made my way to Orkwatch to confront my father about his plans regarding the situation.

King Qhorwyn sat behind his desk with crossed arms as I explained to him that this would be an excellent opportunity to attack the Riverlands from the sea. "War is bad for business," he simply responded to me, his toneless voice devoid of passion. "My fleet will stay put, and once the Storm King has crushed this rebellion we shall re-establish trade with him."

With disappointment I stormed out of my father's office, deciding to approach my brother Halleck instead. As the heir to the Seastone Chair he would've had enough pull to at least arrange a large raiding party to attack Seagard now that it was vulnerable.

"What you're suggesting would be treason, brother," Halleck told me sternly. "Forget about it. Qhorwyn is our king and his word governs."

"So, are we going to war?" Raging Ralf asked eagerly as I returned to the Opulent Lady.

"No, we aren't," I answered apathetically. "Turns out our king lacks the courage."

"Oh well," Ralf said with a shrug. "Where shall we go then, captain?"

I remained quiet for a moment, considering carefully what options I had. I could've continued transporting timber and other goods from the Rock to the Iron Islands, but I had promised my crew more than that. Raiding fishing villages in Cape Kraken or Stony Shore could be done even with just a single crew, but there wasn't much glory or riches to be found in that. There was also always the possibility of sailing somewhere far away to the south and east, and I had heard the plunder there was easy and plentiful now that the Free Cities were waging wars against each other. However, there was still one thing left for me to do on the Iron Islands.

"We sail to Pyke."

It was a dark and rainy day when the Opulent Lady arrived in the harbor of Lordsport, the end of summer being near. I instructed my crew to stay in the town and took a horse for myself from the stables, riding through the rain to the ancestral home of House Greyjoy.

"Who are you and what's your business?" asked the guardsman atop the gatehouse as I approached the castle's gates.

"I am Prince Harwyn Hoare, the third son of King Qhorwyn," I announced myself proudly, managing to keep up my composure despite shaking slightly from the cold under my soaking wet clothes. "I have come to claim Lady Alys Greyjoy as my bride."

The guardsman stared at me with some confusion, but after a moment he commanded the gates to be opened regardless. I rode into the courtyard enclosed by a curtain wall – the only part of Pyke that remained on the mainland. As I dismounted my horse I was approached by Lomys Sharp, the castle's stout and balding master-at-arms. I repeated the purpose of my visit to him, and he also gave me a confused look. "If you could wait here, my prince," he then said politely, before hurrying to the stone bridge connecting the mainland with the Great Keep.

I took shelter from the rain by the stables, keeping my eyes locked on the doors of the Great Keep, waiting for my love to run out to meet me at any moment. However, the first one to come out of those doors wasn't Alys, but rather two young men. As they got closer I recognized them as my brother Harlan and his friend Mandon Greyjoy.

"Harwyn, what on earth are you doing here?" Harlan asked with a small grin on his face as he approached me.

"I've come to claim my bride, Lady Alys," I stated nonchalantly. Harlan and Mandon shared an amused glance, after which my brother took a few steps closer to me. "What are you talking about?" he asked with a small chuckle.

"You heard what I said," I responded calmly. "I've come to claim Alys as my bride."

"She's not yours to claim, little brother," Harlan said, his tone slightly more serious now.

"Yes, she is," I insisted sternly. "She promised herself to me at Halleck's wedding."

A tense silence followed my words, filled only by the sound of rain drumming against the roofs. Thin smirk formed on Harlan's face, and he let out a sigh. "I don't know what she said to you back then, but that was over a year ago," he said quietly. "Things have changed since then. I am to marry Alys."

I felt my whole body tensing up. I looked Harlan to the eyes, and to my shock the look in them was sincere, he wasn't trying to fool me.

"Has your father not mentioned anything to you about this?" Mandon asked with a raised eyebrow, and I shook my head. "It's the first I hear of this," I muttered, anger boiling inside me. "And I refuse to accept it."

"Calm down, little brother," Harlan said coldly. "There is nothing to do about it. Just leave and forget all about this, you'll find a suitable bride for yourself in time."

I ignored my brother's words and unsheathed my sword, pointing it towards him. "I challenge you to a duel," I growled, stepping into the rain again. "To yielding or death, for the hand of Alys."

"Are you mad?" Harlan asked with a stifled chuckle.

"Draw your sword or I will kill you where you stand!" I roared, which finally made Harlan realize I was serious. After a moment of hesitation, he did indeed draw his sword. "If this is really what you want, brother," Harlan muttered under his breath.

I struck first, and the sound of steel clashing against steel rang through the air as my brother parried my sword with his. I was on the offensive, trying to get through Harlan's defense with aggressive swings and thrusts. However, he was quick on his feet and handled his blade with precision, managing to always keep it between himself and my attacks.

After successfully parrying a slew of my attacks Harlan charged for a counter offense, striking with speed and accuracy that I struggled to keep up with. After deflecting one of his downward swings I almost slipped and fell to the muddy ground, just barely regaining my balance to block Harlan's next strike.

As I stared my brother to the eyes the words of Fergon Tawney echoed in my mind – discipline, patience, decisiveness.

"Give up, brother!" Harlan yelled through the rain. "We can still end this before it gets ugly."

I took in a deep breath and charged for another attack. Harlan parried my first, second, third and fourth strike, but then I noticed his posture faltering. With brutal decisiveness I seized the opportunity, landing a harsh strike on my brother's left knee. With a painful scream he lost his balance, and I knocked him down to the muddy ground with guard of my sword. I kicked the sword out of his hand and hovered my blade a couple feet above his face. "Do you yield?"

"You fucking bastard," Harlan muttered with anger. "You'll never have Alys."

I raised my sword with the full intention to strike it down and kill my brother, but then I heard a familiar voice shouting from behind. "STOP IT!"

I lowered my sword and turned to see Alys racing over the bridge through the rain. "Stop it," she repeated as she got closer. She fell down on her knees next to Harlan, to make sure he wasn't hurt.

"Alys," I said with a gulp, and she turned to look at me, her blue eyes wide open in shock. "Alys, I've come to claim you. Like you asked me to, remember?"

"I'm sorry, Harwyn, but things have changed," she said, just a hint of shame in her words. "I'm to marry Harlan."

"I defeated him!" I bellowed in rage. "I put my life in the line to win your hand, and I prevailed!"

"I don't care!" Alys responded sharply, helping Harlan back on his feet. "Look, I am sorry if you feel you've been wronged, I truly am. However, I will marry your brother, and that's the end of it. Please, try to understand."

I stood there in silence, staring blankly at my brother and the girl I thought I had loved. "You'll regret this one day," I muttered bitterly, before sheathing my sword and turning my back for both of them.

It was at this moment that I knew I would have to leave the Iron Islands behind.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Love and Death in Lys**

The Opulent Lady scudded atop the waves under the blazing hot sun of the Stepstones. My hands were tightly clutched around the railing of the prow, as I stared at the Pentoshi merchant cog some fifty yards ahead of us. Slightly behind on the port side came the Red Terror, the longship captained by Ravos Drumm.

We had been chasing the ship for half-an-hour at that point, slowly getting closer and closer. It was my first time boarding and capturing a ship, and I was more nervous than I liked to admit. Aboard the Pentoshi ship a couple dozen lightly armored guards could be seen, many of them already aiming their crossbows towards the Ironborn longships that chased them. They wouldn't stand a chance against us, I knew it.

I turned around to face my crew and drew my sword. Two thirds of the men were still on the oars, the rest preparing to throw the boarding hooks on the merchant ship and charge to its deck with swords and axes. "Brothers!" I yelled and banged my sword against my shield, which the crewmen repeated in unison. "Today we pay the iron price, the real iron price! We will soak our blades in their blood and take what is ours! WHAT IS DEAD MAY NEVER DIE!"

"WHAT IS DEAD MAY NEVER DIE!" the crew repeated.

Soon we reached the merchant ship, the Opulent Lady approaching it from starboard and the Red Terror from the port side. The boarding hooks were thrown, and the Pentoshi guards shot a volley of bolts at us as we began to board the ship. Two bolts landed on my own shield.

Once aboard, I saw two guards charging at me, both armed with falchions – short, cleaver-like swords – and screaming something in bastard Valyrian. I blocked the first man's strike with ease and plunged my sword through his guts. It was the first time I killed a man, but there was no time to stop and congratulate myself. I pushed the dying man towards his companion who was about to attack me, and while he was distracted I slashed open his throat.

The fighting was over quickly, the remaining six guards throwing down their arms and surrendering. As the men made their way down to the merchant ship's hold to search for valuables, Ravos Drumm approached me. His beard and face had been stained with dark red blood, but his mouth formed a wide white grin.

"I see you managed to get your blade blooded, Prince Harwyn," he exclaimed loudly, putting his hand on my shoulder.

"Of course," I responded with a smirk, still feeling the thrill of battle running through my veins.

"You're truly a man now," Ravos said as he removed his hand. "Well, almost."

"Almost?" I asked with furrowed brows, to which the Drumm captain reacted with a chuckle. "You still need to be with a woman," he remarked sharply.

"Prince Harwyn," I heard the gruff voice of Raging Ralf behind me and turned to face him. "What is it, Ralf?"

"We lost three men," he informed me with a small sigh. "Ulf and Young Kennet are already dead, and One-eyed Jason is dying."

Ralf took me to Jason, who was sitting by the railing of the merchant ship, a bolt embedded in his chest and a pained expression on his face. I crouched down next to him, gulping subtly as I struggled to find something to say.

"Should've known I'm… too old for this," he said, forcing a smirk on his face, which was quickly replaced with a grimace of agony. "Didn't think I'd die… so far from home."

"It's an honor to die on the sea, with an axe in your hand," I said quietly, and Jason narrowed his one eye as he looked at me. "An honor," he repeated with a sour tone, before turning his gaze down to the bolt deep in his chest. "It's taking… too bloody long. Just put your sword through my heart… and end it."

Wordlessly I nodded to Jason, and after taking in a deep breath I drove my blade into his chest. As the life disappeared from his eye, I felt conflicted. Jason had never been my closest friend or most trusted crewman, but he was perhaps the one out of them all I had wanted the most to prove my worth to as a captain. He had considered sailing to Stepstones a folly, he hadn't believed in my vision, and he died believing he had been right. "What is dead may never die," I muttered quietly as I pulled my sword out of his chest.

A decent load of precious spices and cheeses were found from the ship's hold, which we then brought to the pirate town of Torturer's Deep and sold to smugglers. Torturer's Deep was unlike any port town I had seen before, built into a long and narrow cove that acted as a natural harbor. Many of the town's buildings had been constructed on wooden platforms along the cliffsides, with a dozen rope bridges connecting the two sides of the cove. At the very end of the cove there stood an old and derelict stone fort, and at its feet a market square surrounded by brothels and inns. The shadowy town was filled with whores, thieves, cutthroats and worse.

After the goods had been sold Ravos took me to one of the inns, one owned by some Tyroshi pirate he knew. It was a miserable establishment by all accounts, with a smoky and dimly lit common room, damp wooden furniture that smelled like it was rotting, and serving gray squid stew that I could eat just a couple of spoons before feeling too nauseated to continue. The wine at least was decent enough.

"I thought you said I should be with a woman," I said nonchalantly as I gulped down the first cup of wine.

"You're free to do as you will, young prince," Ravos responded with a thin smirk on his face. "However, if I were you, I'd avoid the whores of Torturer's Deep. They'll just give you a pox."

"Thanks for the warning," I said joylessly while pouring myself more wine. "Personal experience, I take it?"

"Not exactly, just an observation I've made over the years," Ravos spoke calmly, leaning back on his chair. "Many men from my crew enjoy the whores here. Personally, I give my seed for two women only; my loyal rock wife Myria back on the isles, and my lovely Bhaella in the pleasure gardens of Lys."

"I've heard of the Lysene bed slaves," I said with a mildly curious tone. "Heard they're bloody expensive though."

"And well worth it," Ravos claimed with a sharp smirk. "However, I didn't bring you here just to drink wine and discuss whores." With these words he gulped his cup empty and climbed atop the table. "_Rȳbagon nyke!_" Ravos yelled in what I assumed was Valyrian, gathering the attention of the people in the common room. "_Iksan jurnegēre loktys!_"

Whatever Ravos said, it brought a dozen-or-so men around our table, most of them looking like hardened men who knew how to swing a sword. Ravos gave the men a small speech in Valyrian, and during it many of the men turned around and walked away. When he finished speaking, four men remained standing there.

"Any of you speak the common tongue?" Ravos asked them.

"I do," said a wiry young man with long platinum hair and lilac eyes, with just a hint of accent in his words.

"Little," said a tall and muscular man with teak skin, his accent much thicker.

"Good, you'll join Prince Harwyn's crew," Ravos told them, gesturing towards me, before saying something to the other two in Valyrian. As he climbed down from the table again, I gave him a confused look.

"What? We both lost men in that last job, new recruits are needed," Ravos told me nonchalantly, patting me on the back lightly."Besides, you should have someone in your crew who can speak Valyrian. Perhaps you could learn it yourself as well."

Next day we began the sail back to the den we had set up on Grey Gallows, where I had the opportunity to better get to know the new members of my crew. Maelon Nohreos was the fourth son of a noble family from within the Black Walls of Volantis, in his veins the blood of Valyria. He was a well-educated young man, a few years older than me, and spoke the common tongue fluently. He told me his father had been murdered shortly after the Doom of Valyria in the power struggles between the Volantene nobles, and once his eldest brother had become the head of the family, he had exiled himself. "Vanyon is a vile man," he told me about his brother. "Sometimes I wonder if he was the one who poisoned our father, and not one of our rivals."

Mabolo Zhaad on the other hand was a sellsail from the Summer Isles, who had once captained his own ship and crew, but lost them few years before meeting me. Mabolo's vocabulary in the common tongue was much more limited than Maelon's, which is why I learned much less about his past. He seemed like a capable enough warrior though, always carrying a large poleaxe with him.

Life as a pirate on the Stepstones was simple enough after I got used to it. For every day spent raiding, bringing the stolen goods to be sold in Torturer's Deep and buying more supplies or recruiting new men, we spent five at our den, feasting, drinking and relaxing. The targets Ravos found for us were mostly lightly defended merchant ships that were easily captured, and soon enough the thrill of battle I had felt during the first job began to diminish. This wasn't helped by the fact that nearly half of the ships surrendered to us without a fight. I was a raider like I had always dreamed, but this didn't feel like the glorious stories of the Ironborn heroes of the past. Once or twice I tried to suggest to Ravos that we should seek harder targets, ones that carried treasures of unimaginable wealth, but he laughingly dismissed my suggestions as a green boy's over eagerness. And perhaps that was exactly what they were, but nonetheless I was beginning to feel impatient and frustrated. There was plenty wealth to be made as a pirate on the Stepstones, but scarce glory.

Five turns of moon went on like this. During that time my sixteenth nameday came and went, and I grew my first beard, though it was hardly more than a thin stubble. I spent the days at the den by conversing with Maelon, who taught me history of Essos as well as how to speak the Valyrian tongue. I wasn't a quick learner by any means, but I did learn. I also kept improving my sword skills by sparring with Raging Ralf, Urrathon Ironmaker or Norne the Giant. Ralf was an experienced fighter who kept up his guard patiently until he saw an opening, which he then seized upon with the ferocity of a wild beast. Urrathon as a young man was faster and more agile, putting my defense to test with his quick and precise strikes. Norne on the other hand was a large man with the strength of an ox, forcing me to dodge and leap away from his heavy swings or be thrown to the sand by them. My fights with them often left me with bruises, busted lips and aching muscles, but it was all in service of making me the best warrior I could be.

Finally, during another one of our visits to Torturer's Deep, Ravos and I were approached in the tavern by a tall and pale man with silver-gold hair and indigo eyes, dressed in fine garments of velvets and silks in different shades of blue and adorned with gold and amethysts. The man was escorted by two guards clad in gilded scale armors and spiked bronze caps, and equipped with spears, short swords and round shields.

"You must be the Ironborn captains, Drumm and Hoare," the man spoke with a distinct accent he made no efforts to hide, taking a seat by our table and tossing a small sack filled with golden coins on it. "I would like to hire you."

He was a man grown certainly, but I found it hard to tell how old exactly. His soft features and cleanshaven face made him look more a boy than a man, but something in his sharp and attentive eyes revealed he wasn't quite as young as he looked. The Valyrians were renowned for their unearthly beauty, and this man was no exception.

"That's a lot of coin," Ravos stated dryly as he eyed the sack on the table. "I wonder, who wishes to hire us with such lofty price?"

"The Free City of Lys," the silver-haired man responded sharply, grabbing the sack with his left hand and pulling out two coins from it with the right. He tossed one to me and one to Ravos. Quietly I observed the oval shaped coin, noticing a naked woman minted on it. "You may keep those, as a gift, but for the rest you will have to sign a contract."

The man introduced himself as Manys Belagar, the second son of a wealthy and powerful Lyseni magister. He explained to us that he had been sent to the Stepstones to hire as many crews as he could. "To defend the freedom of my beautiful city," he said.

"And who threatens the freedom of Lys?" I asked with furrowed brows, still twiddling the coin between my fingers.

"The Volantene," Manys spat with disgust. "Those arrogant bastards believe themselves the heirs to the Freehold, but the Lyseni are just as much Valyrian, and neither of us have dragons."

"Did no dragonlords survive the Doom?" I asked with genuine curiosity. Manys seemed surprised by the question, but indulged me nonetheless.

"Some did," he said with a small sigh. "In Lys there were five dragons after the Freehold fell. The two oldest and largest of them perished together with their riders mere weeks after the Doom, battling each other on the skies above the storming waters within a seeing distance from the city. Soon after that another dragon flew away with its rider to Valyria, never to return. And the last two, the youngest and smallest of the dragons, were killed in a great revolt some four moons after the Doom. I've heard something similar happened to the dragons and their riders in Tyrosh, Mantarys, Tolos and Essaria. There was also a dragonlord in Qohor who survived, proclaimed himself the Emperor of Valyria and raised a great army of thirty thousand men, which he then foolishly marched into Valyria where they all disappeared. Now the only dragonlords left are the Targaryens on their island fortress in Blackwater Bay."

"Remind me never to go anywhere near Valyria," Ravos said grimly. "What kind of a hellish place swallows dragons and armies whole like that?"

"Indeed," Manys Belagar muttered with a plaintive tone. "Valyria is lost, and those who seek to find it are doomed. However, the Freehold left behind many daughters, Lys being the most beautiful of them. I would not have her defiled and subjugated by the warmongers of Volantis. Any crew willing to fight for Lys the Lovely will be well rewarded," he promised, showing again the fat sack of gold. "I will set sail come dawn, make your decision before then." And with those words the Lyseni and his silent guards made their way out of the tavern.

Ravos was uncertain at first, claiming wars were riskier than raiding, but over a couple of ales I was able to persuade him. Of course, I would've taken the offer myself regardless, but I did feel more comfortable with another crew of ironmen sailing beside the Opulent Lady – even more so now that nearly a fifth of my own crew were foreigners hired to replace the men of the Iron Isles who had fallen in fighting.

The next morning we signed Manys' contracts, and he paid us half the reward, promising he would pay the rest in Lys. And so, we set sail with the Lyseni noble and the two dozen other ships he had already hired. For a few weeks we roamed about the Stepstones, adding a dozen more ships to the fleet, before finally heading towards Lys.

It was a cloudless and windy autumn day when I first saw the paradise-like island of Lys with its white beaches and lush fruit trees and palms, as well as the stunning city of marble that shared its name. On the blue-green waters of the city's harbor already floated some two-hundred warships when we arrived. Maybe a third of those ships were Lysene war galleys and dromonds, their hulls and sails painted with bright colors and their gilded rams depicting dragon heads. The rest of the ships were a variety of smaller galleys, longships and cogs, and their captains sellsails, corsairs and pirates.

"So many towers," Urrathon observed with an astonished look in his eyes as we anchored the Opulent Lady and climbed onto the waterfront.

"Topless towers," Toothless Tom lisped knowingly. "They used to be dragon's nests."

There were no more dragons in Lys, but there was no mistaking that it was a daughter of Valyria. Its buildings and streets were decorated with gargoyles and statues depicting dragons, and its people from the lowest to the noblest all looked distinctly Valyrian with their silver hairs and purple eyes. Of course, right now the city – especially its winesinks, gambling dens and brothels – was also filled with outsiders hired to defend the city against the threat of Volantis. Just walking through the crowded market in the harbor I spotted a group of Tyroshi pirates with flashy dyed hairs and extravagant golden jewelry, a short and fat Braavosi captain with curly black hair and a twirled mustache arguing with a tall and dark woman of Summer Isles accompanied by a broad and hairy Ibbenese man, and a pair of tall and pale men with long beards and longer axes, whom I assumed were bearded priests of Norvos. And there were slaves, more slaves than I had ever before seen in my life. These slaves worked as dockhands, servants and in other labors deemed too lowly for the citizens, which wasn't too different from the thralls back in Iron Isles, but in Lys even the guardsmen were slaves. It boggled my mind to see so many men armed with swords and spears seemingly willingly forfeiting their freedom to serve their Lyseni masters. The threat of dragons had surely kept them in line before the Doom of Valyria, but what kept them in line now? Had they simply grown too comfortable with their chains? These questions would continue to vex me for some time.

Manys Belagar arranged housing for the crews of the Opulent Lady and Red Terror in some inns that he owned, as well as offering Ravos and me quarters in some of the many apartments owned by the Belagar family. He also paid us the rest of our rewards and left us to our own devices, no doubt hoping we would spend much of that reward in some of the many establishments in the city owned by the Belagars. Undoubtedly many of my crewmen did just that after I gave them their share, but I did not. This city was filled with expensive temptations, as I quickly took notice, almost like it had all been designed to suck every last coin from rich men too careless with their gold. I may have been a reckless young man in many ways, but in this instance I had the good sense to be careful. While Ravos kept visiting his Bhaella in the pleasure gardens, and Ralf, Urrathon, Norne, Mabolo and others kept pouring their coin into wine, gambling and whoring, I took to the streets with Maelon Nohreos and Toothless Tom.

"The Weeping Lady of Lys," Maelon said with a subtle gulp, as we looked at a fifteen feet tall marble statue of a naked lady. It stood in a large fountain located in one of Lys' many plazas, tears constantly flowing from her eyes to the pool below.

"Some kind of goddess?" I asked curiously.

"A goddess of love and death," Maelon responded, a respectful tone on his words.

"Love _and_ death? The gods your people worship here are queer," Tom commented with a disparaging tone, to which Maelon shook his head. "These are not my people, and I do not worship the Weeping Lady. However, you would be a fool to underestimate her power. The Lyseni may be most famed for the soft arts of lovemaking and seduction, but they are just as much the masters of death."

"Assassins?" I asked nonchalantly, and Maelon nodded. "Poisoners, to be precise," he said quietly. "The alchemists of Lys make some of the most lethal and subtle poisons in the world."

From the Plaza of the Weeping Lady we continued to the temple district, which at the moment was surprisingly quiet in comparison to the rest of the city. There we saw many old and grand temples, with large statues of marble, basalt, bronze, ebony and dragonbone depicting strange deities, and Maelon told us what he knew of them. There was a cat goddess with six teats, and at the stairs of its temple lazed a couple dozen fat alley cats. "The priests feed them," Maelon stated the obvious.

Then there was a deity called Yndros of the Twilight, who was depicted as half a man and half a woman. "Yndros is a male by day and a female by night, and it is said their acolytes transform from one sex to the other when they make love," Maelon explained. I looked at the hooded priests standing by the temple's doors, and to my surprise I couldn't tell from their faces whether they were men or women.

Inside a temple that looked modest in comparison to the others stood a pale marble statue of a small child holding a sword. "Bakkalon the Pale Child," Maelon said calmly. "A god of war and protector of soldiers." And indeed, by the statue's feet was a guardsman on his knees, speaking a quiet prayer for the pale child.

"The Red R'hllor," Maelon said as we arrived at the last temple. "A god worshiped mostly by slaves," he informed us as we looked at the priests donned in crimson robes singing around a bonfire burning in their temple.

"And why is that?" Tom asked with a frown.

"Because the red priests themselves are slaves, and they believe we are all slaves of R'hllor," Maelon explained. "Noble or lowborn, free or slave, man or woman, everyone is equal under the eyes of the Lord of Light."

I chuckled slightly at the idea of some lowly thrall toiling in the mines of Orkmont being equal to me, a prince of an ancient noble line derived from the Age of Heroes. "Delusions of the weak."

From the red temple we made our way back towards the harbor, visiting the Temple of Trade on the way. Formally it was a temple devoted to some deity worshiped by merchants, but in practice the cavernous hall was a marketplace for the rarest and most precious goods to be found in Lys. By the stalls, which were each guarded by at least two soldiers, were on display apple-sized gemstones from the Summer Isles, spider silk cloths from the Kingdom of Sarnor, saffron and other spices from Qarth and beyond, ivory and gold from Sothoryos, wines from the Arbor, eunuch slave soldiers known as the Unsullied from the Slaver's Bay, dyes from Braavos, and much more. After looking around for a while I decided to buy a black-and-gold spider silk cloak, even though it costed nearly third of what Manys Belagar had paid me. It was a cloak worthy of a prince however, there was no denying that. From the Temple of Trade we made our way to the harbor to check on the Opulent Lady.

"Fancy cloak, captain," said Norne the Giant who was in guard duty with Harlys Osten, a middle-aged Pentoshi sellsword who had joined their crew a couple months ago. "Did you pay the iron price for it?"

"Of course not," I responded with a chuckle. "I make my gold with my sword. Would be a shame never to use any of it."

"Any news of the Volantene?" Tom asked.

"Some merchant who arrived yesterday said the Volantene fleet was still stationed in Volantis when he left there a fortnight ago," Norne said with a shrug. "These Essosi folk seem to like to take their sweet time with everything, even war."

That seemed to indeed be the case, and so we continued waiting for the war to come in Lys. Nearly two weeks after we first came to Lys, Manys Belagar invited me and Ravos to a ball in the Belagar manse, and we were both allowed to take two companions. I took Urrathon Ironmaker and Maelon Nohreos, on account of them being the only two noblemen in my crew. Ravos on the other hand took Ygon Goodbrother – the elderly great-uncle of the Lord of Shatterstone – and his Lyseni courtesan Bhaella.

The lofty estate of the Belagars stood in the shadow of a tall and slender white tower, which had once been occupied by dragonlords. As far as I understood the Belagars themselves had never had dragons, even if they did trace their lineage back to the Valyria of old. Apparently they had been one of the many lesser noble families of the Freehold that had settled on Lys when the colony was first found over a millennia ago. However, the ascendancy of the Belagars to the power they now held in the city had only began after the Doom of Valyria, some six years before my arrival there. The reason was simple enough – they were the wealthiest family in Lys, and with dragonfire gone gold had become the key to power.

The manse was quite a labyrinth to navigate with its many halls, courtyards, gardens and stairways, not to mention the crowds that filled them all that night. There were rich and fat Lyseni magisters with their wives, sons and daughters, all dressed in fine silks of soft pastel colors and adorned with gold and jewels, priests and priestesses from the many temples of the city, colorful variety of sellsail captains from across the seas, strikingly beautiful and provocatively dressed courtesans, servants hurrying between the kitchens and the courtyards, and slave guards standing at every door. In one of the courtyards there was a band of minstrels playing ballads, and in another a troupe of mummers with four monkeys made the audience laugh with their silly antics, tricks and jests. We were served white Lysene wine and fat plums as we entered, but to me the fruits tasted overripe and slightly bitter.

Quickly we came across Manys Belagar, who led me and Ravos to a less crowded solar in the second floor. There we found Lucaerys Belagar, the head of the Belagar family and the First Magister of Lys, sitting on soft satin cushions, sipping honeyed wine and nibbling on cheese and grapes. He was an obese man and the wrinkles on his pasty face revealed his advanced age, but his gold-silver hair and beard were still luscious and thick. Nearest to him sat his wife Lady Saela, a stern and plump middle-aged Valyrian woman wearing a silver tiara adorned with diamonds, and their eldest son Laegor Belagar, who looked much like his younger brother except stockier and sporting a full beard. He was also the Gonfaloniere – the elected officer in charge of the city's elite guards.

With the Belagars also sat a lean and handsome young man not much older than I was. He was dressed in baggy white pants and a black leather vest with a golden dragon embroidered on the chest, leaving his muscled torso and arms bare. He had a light bronze complexion, which was in stark contrast with the silver-white hair that fell on his shoulders. The young man introduced himself as Prince Raelor Dalaeris, the son and heir of the King of Basilisk Isles, Maegarys Dalaeris. Apparently more than half of the captains who had come to defend Lys were sworn to this corsair king of Basilisk Isles.

"I've read about the Ironborn," Lucaerys Belagar stated nonchalantly after I and Ravos were done introducing ourselves. "Your raiders have had a fierce reputation throughout history, even here. I am glad to have you on our side, Prince Harwyn."

"The honor is mine," I responded tensely in Valyrian, and to my relief the Belagars seemed to understand and appreciate my words.

"My father rules over the Summer Sea, and I've heard yours rules over the Sunset Sea," Prince Raelor said with an arrogant smirk on his face. "Perhaps our kingdoms should join in an alliance and together we could rule over the Narrow Sea as well."

I chuckled softly at Raelor's quip, but looking into his violet eyes I saw a wealth of ambition. This young man had a genuine will to conquer, which was something I could certainly relate to. "It would be glorious, Prince Raelor," I responded with a respectful nod.

Making our way back downstairs, Ravos and I found our companions in one of the halls watching the performance of an exotic dancer. Bhaella looked to be genuinely enjoying herself, but the rest of them looked uncomfortable amidst these crowds of Lysene elite. Poor old Ygon Goodbrother especially was like a fish on dry land.

"Enjoying the evening?" I quietly asked Urrathon and Maelon, while Ravos and Bhaella drifted away with their arms locked together and Ygon awkwardly followed after them.

"Sure. It is… quite different from the feasts back in home," Urrathon stated with a nervous grin.

"And you, Maelon?" I asked, and the Volantene gave me a hesitant nod.

"It's been a few years, but I'm used to these kinds of evenings," Maelon said quietly, glancing around himself. "It's just… my family isn't particularly popular in Lys. Sure, I don't love my brother either, but somehow I doubt that softens these people's opinions on me."

"Have they given you trouble?" I asked sternly, looking around the room. My eyes stopped on a beautiful courtesan standing near the doorway leading to the gardens, whose gaze lingered on me for a few seconds before she walked out into the gardens.

"Just some harsh looks as I've introduced myself," Maelon answered, shifting my attention back to him.

"If they give you trouble, tell me," I hastily said to him, before making my way into the gardens. It was dark there, with just a few guests lingering near the doorways. The soft gurgling of a fountain could be heard nearby, as well as the chirping of crickets and birds. I walked deeper into the garden, towards the fountain, without knowing exactly why.

"What are you looking for, foreign warrior?" A soft and melodic voice with a Lysene accent asked, and I turned to see the same courtesan who had looked at me earlier. She was a svelte and graceful young woman, with a wavy silver hair that nearly reached her waist and a soft skin with bronze complexion. She moved like a cat, and there was something in her almond-shaped blue eyes that reminded me of Alys Greyjoy. I was conflicted, feeling at the same time aroused and hurt by my memories as I looked at this woman.

"Perhaps I am looking for you, mylady," I responded with a smooth smirk, which she reciprocated.

"Men call me the She-Basilisk, and there are not many who can afford my love," she spoke with a seductive tone, measuring me with her eyes. "However, you can call me Vhaerya, foreigner."

"I am Prince Harwyn Hoare, son of Qhorwyn Hoare, the King of the Iron Isles," I introduced myself proudly, but Vhaerya merely chuckled at my words.

"Oh, so I have the honor to speak to the Prince of Wet Rocks himself," she mocked lightheartedly.

"My father is actually among the wealthiest noblemen west of the Narrow Sea," I argued with a frown, but it didn't seem to impress the She-Basilisk much.

"My father is a king as well," she claimed nonchalantly. "Yet no one calls me a princess."

"Would you like me to?" I asked sharply, which made Vhaerya laugh.

"I think I like you, Prince Harwyn," she said with a sly smile, stepping closer to me and softly grabbing my left hand. "Perhaps you would like to join me in the pleasure gardens tonight?"

I gulped subtly and turned my gaze down. "I would prefer not to pay for love," I answered quietly, which made the courtesan chuckle.

"Everything in this world has a price, my prince," she said softly, putting two fingers under my chin and raising my gaze to meet hers again. "You are a virgin, aren't you?" she then asked calmly.

"Yes," I responded sternly, not seeing any reason to lie.

"A virgin of royal blood," Vhaerya said, a curious look in her eyes as she studied my face. "That is rare enough. I can give you a discount. You won't have to pay me much more for this night than you would for a common whore. No better offer has ever been made, any man this side of Qarth would take it."

"Fine then, She-Basilisk," I quietly conceded.

She led me through the dark streets of Lys to a lush garden illuminated by red lanterns and filled with the pleasant scent of flowers and perfume. Someone was playing a calming tune with a lute, and faint moans of pleasure could be heard behind the hedges as we walked past them on a winding cobbled path. Vhaerya first took me to a large bath filled with hot water. There she scrubbed my skin clean and shaved off my stubble and body hair. Then, after gently drying me off with a towel, she led me to a soft feather mattress with fat silken pillows, hidden from the world by the hedges circling it. Laying down there felt almost like I was hovering in the air. There she began to massage my muscles, starting from the feet and slowly making her way up.

By the time she gently grabbed my stiff manhood, I felt like I was floating somewhere far above our mortal world. After stroking it a while she mounted it with a delightful moan and proceeded to move atop it with such enchanting seductiveness that I could last mere moments before my seed was insider her. Then, with a sweet giggle she laid down next to me.

"Prince Harwyn, virgin no more," Vhaerya purred to my ear, to which I reacted with a relaxed chuckle. It had been a heavenly experience, leaving me wordless for the moment.

"I wonder, why are you _really _here," the courtesan spoke softly, running her index finger softly across my chest. "Not to fight for the freedom of Lys, that much is obvious. For coin? Not likely, you said yourself that your father is among the richest men in Westeros. Perhaps you are here for the sake of glory, yes, I am sure that is what you tell yourself. However, I have a feeling there is an even truer reason beneath that."

"What are you on about?" I asked strictly, having found my tongue again.

"I believe you're here, so far away from your home, because you are running away from something." Vhaerya looked me intensely to the eyes as she spoke, and under that gaze I felt paralyzed. "A disappointment with your family perhaps, or a lost love."

"Let's talk about you instead," I said tensely, to quickly change the topic. "You said earlier that you are a daughter of a king. Is that true?"

"Oh, it is," she responded with a sly smirk. "My father is a king, though back when he fathered me, he was merely an admiral of the Freehold of Valyria. My mother on the other hand was nothing more than a common whore from the Basilisk Isles, not worthy to marry a great man like Maegarys Dalaeris."

"The King of the Basilisk Isles," I uttered in a moment of realization, and Vhaerya nodded. "Self-appointed," she clarified with a disparaging tone. "He sold me away when I was five."

"To the Lyseni?" I asked quietly, and she nodded again. "He always had a good relationship with the Belagars," she said, just a hint of bitterness in her words. "And now he has sent my little brother here to save their skin and thus gain influence in this city."

"You're the property of the Belagars?" I asked calmly, only then realizing that I didn't even know who owned the pleasure garden I was currently laying in.

"I used to be," Vhaerya clarified, a smirk returning to her face now. "I was bought a year ago by a new master, the owner of this fine establishment, Damorio Rogare. In fact, I was going to ask if you would like to meet him."

"Your master?" I asked with a raised eyebrow. "Why would you want me to meet him?"

Vhaerya climbed atop me, and I could feel my manhood getting hard again. "Magister Damorio is an ambitious man with great plans," she whispered, softly stroking my chest. "And you… you are a man in search of glory and adventure. Things in this city aren't as they seem to be, my prince. After the dragons died the Belagars clawed their way to the top, but they made more enemies than friends on their way up."

I narrowed my eyes as I looked at Vhaerya in that moment, seeing for the first time not only the beauty but also the danger in her blue eyes. "You're saying that the Belagars might not hold on to their power for long?"

"I am saying they are doomed," the She-Basilisk whispered, and her tone sent shivers down my spine. Then she stood up. "Come to the Rogare manse at sundown tomorrow if you wish to learn more."

The following day went slowly. I spent it mostly in the apartment given to me by the Belagars, looking out of the window to the bustling streets below and pondering what I was getting myself into. Nonetheless, as evening drew near, I started to make my way towards the Rogare manse, alone. At the gates I was greeted by slave guards, who asked for my name. I gave it to them, and with a respectful bow they escorted me inside.

The Rogare manse was modest in comparison to that of the Belagars, but the magnificent marble statues on the garden they walked through still made clear they were a wealthy family. At the doors of the entrance hall I was welcomed by whom I could only assume was the head servant of the household. He was an old and hairless pale man dressed in simple but fine robes of dark blue silk. He in turn led me upstairs to a balcony overlooking the main courtyard of the manse. There Vhaerya was waiting for me, in the company of a tall and slender man on his mid to late thirties. The man had a silky platinum hair that reached beyond his shoulders, deep-set purple eyes, sharp facial features and a pointed chin. He was clad in an extravagant attire of velvets and satins, mostly in white and gold, and he had two golden rings on his right hand, one adorned with a diamond and the other with an amethyst. However, what caught my eye in particular was the beautiful longsword dangling from his left hip. Its guard seemed to be made from dragonbone and its silver pommel adorned with a diamond, but most importantly its shimmering white blade was undoubtedly Valyrian steel, forged with dragonfire and spells in the heart of the now fallen Freehold.

"Ah, Prince Harwyn, you came after all," the man said with a thick Lysene accent after his head servant had introduced me, a polite but reserved smile on his face. "Allow me to introduce myself, I am Magister Damorio Rogare, the owner of all Rogare property within this city." Saying that, the man subtly glanced at Vhaerya who stood beside him.

"I came because Vhaerya invited me," I responded as I shook the magister's hand, giving the courtesan a meaningful glance.

"Ah, yes, I heard you spent some time together last night," Damorio said, now putting his arm around Vhaerya. "She is quite a woman, wouldn't you agree?"

"Indeed," I replied tensely.

"Come, let us discuss over a few cups of wine, my prince," Damorio said, gesturing for me to join him at a small round table closer to the railing of the balcony. I took the seat opposed to the magister, and Vhaerya sat between us. The head servant poured red wine for each of us.

"An ironborn prince," Damorio Rogare said with a slight chuckle after taking his first sip of the wine. "I admit I am somewhat wary of whether you can be trusted, but Vhaerya claims you could make for a valuable ally."

"In taking down the Belagar family?" I asked nonchalantly, which made the magister raise an eyebrow.

"I told him that the Belagars are doomed," Vhaerya joined in the conversation.

"I see," Damorio said, tapping his fingers against the table. "That means you already know enough to potentially be a danger to my plans. So, I pray that Vhaerya is right about you."

"I have no loyalty for the Belagars," I clarified with a shrug. "They hired me, that is all. If you are saying they are doomed, I have no intention of going down with them."

"They are doomed only if everything goes as planned," Damorio said sharply, taking another sip of the wine. "A faction set to overthrow the Belagars from their position of power has been gathering behind closed doors for over a year now. We have a majority in the Conclave of Magisters, as well as the support of the head priests of Pantera, Yndros and Saagael. I also have friends inside the Black Walls of Volantis, who have promised me and my closest associates positions of power in the new empire they are building if we ease their conquest of Lys from the inside. In normal circumstances everything would be perfectly set up for us to take the city and cast aside the Belagars, but the presence of King Maegarys Dalaeris's fleet and son complicates things."

"I see," I said, pensively stroking my chin. "And a couple of ironborn crews being under the payment of the Belagars isn't making things easier either, I take it?"

"You could say so, yes," Damorio admitted with a tense smile.

"Let's say I indeed change sides and join your conspiracy against the Belagars. What exactly is in it for me?"

"Well, first of all you will of course be handsomely rewarded in gold and other riches," Damorio started with a sigh. "Secondly, you will have made an ally of the most powerful empire on this world."

"The Empire of Volantis," I said, glancing Damorio and Vhaerya with questioning eyes, and the magister gave me a nod.

"I know it must seem strange to you, that I am aiding the Volantene to conquer my city. I suppose it does make me a traitor of some sort," he acknowledged. "However, the daughters of Valyria are stronger together than they are divided, and it is only right that Volantis as the First Daughter is the one to lead us to a new age. Besides, the tide of change comes in whether we want it to or not. A wise man accepts this and builds a raft, while fools like Lucaerys Belagar drown."

"Do you intend to drown, Prince Harwyn?" Vhaerya asked sharply.

"Someday, yes," I answered with a grin. "But not today, not for the sake of Lys or its freedom. I will make sure my men, or those of Captain Drumm, will not be on your way whenever you decide to move against the Belagars."

"I am pleased to hear that, my prince," Damorio said with a respectful nod. "However, I believe Vhaerya here thinks you could be of more use than simply staying out of the way."

"What do you mean?" I asked, shifting my gaze from the magister to the She-Basilisk, whose lips now formed a sharp smirk.

"The alliance between the Belagars and Dalaerises must be broken before the Volantene fleet arrives," she said, gulping down the rest of her wine. "To do that, Prince Raelor must die. I think you could help with that."

"I'm not an assassin," I responded sternly.

"I know you aren't, my prince," Vhaerya spoke with a sly smirk on her face, "but I am. All you need to do is win his trust and bring her to me."

For a moment I was stunned by Vhaerya's proposition. "How the fuck do you expect me to win his trust?" I asked with a baffled tone. "I don't know anything about him, I've met the man exactly once."

"Well, the two of you are around the same age, and both of you are sons of kings and fond of raiding," Magister Damorio pointed out nonchalantly, after which he shrugged. "It is up to you of course. However, let me be clear that your reward would be substantially increased if you did this. Not to mention, my friends within the Black Walls would be your friends as well, and they are some of the most powerful people on this world right now."

It took me a moment to wrap my head around what was being proposed to me. I stood up from my seat and leaned against the railing of the balcony, silently staring at the courtyard below. This was nothing like the stories of the Ironborn heroes of the past, but there was no denying I was being offered a great opportunity. An opportunity to rise into prominence within the successor state of the great Valyrian Freehold, to have my name writ large in its history.

"I will do it, with one condition," I said as I turned to face the magister again. "_She _will be included in my reward."

Damorio Rogare raised an eyebrow, glancing at Vhaerya. "You mean…?"

"I mean the She-Basilisk," I confirmed before he could even finish his question. "She is your property to give away as you please, is she not?"

"Sure," Damorio confirmed, clearing his throat. "May I ask what your intention with her is?"

"She will be my salt wife."

A couple of days went by. I told Ravos about what I had agreed to, and though he wasn't exactly enthusiastic about it he offered his support. And so, when one evening a Rogare spy came to inform me that Prince Raelor Dalaeris had been seen entering the gambling den on the Street of Fortune, Ravos and I made our way there together.

The gambling den of the Street of Fortune was one of the finer ones in Lys, frequented mostly by wealthy merchants and artisans. However, drunk on wine and gathered around the tables to play dice they made just as rowdy of a crowd as the poorer folk, only they played with bigger stakes. Ravos and I ordered a few cups of wine at the counter and looked around. The gambling den was under the ground and dimly lit, but it didn't take me long to spot the Prince of Basilisk Isles. He was sitting at the corner table, few of his thugs around him, laughing loudly as he played dice with a blue-haired Tyroshi captain and a fat Lyseni merchant. Piles of golden coins were laid on the table as stakes.

"Ironborn!" Prince Raelor exclaimed excitedly as he saw us approaching the table.

"Prince Raelor, what a pleasant surprise," I responded with a polite smile, and he invited us to the table.

I drank wine and played dice with him, listened to his stories about the Basilisk Isles and told him some of my own from the Iron Isles, as did Ravos. In all honesty, I quite liked him, and certainly didn't wish him such a disgraceful manner of death. However, I had made my decision and wouldn't waver now. So, I kept drinking and talking with him, until he was drunk enough for the conversation to turn into women.

"There's a whore from the Basilisk Isles in a nearby brothel, a real beauty that one. I think you'd like her," I told him, struggling to keep a smile on my face.

"Is that so?" Raelor asked with a drunken chuckle. "Maybe we could share her, you and me."

"Fantastic idea, friend," I said, putting my hand on his shoulder. "Follow me."

"Stay here, I won't be long," Prince Raelor told his thugs, and off we went. I lead him to the other end of the street, where we entered a brothel owned by the Rogares called the Queen's Diamond. Just as planned, I lead him up the stairs to the second floor and into the room where Vhaerya was waiting for us.

"You weren't lying, she is beautiful," Raelor spoke with a drunken grin on his face. Laying on the bed, Vhaerya gestured for him to come closer, and he did. I watched silently from the doorframe as the She-Basilisk pulled Prince Raelor to a kiss, and then slit open his throat with a small and sharp knife.

"Valar morghulis, little brother," Vhaerya whispered as the Prince of Basilisk Isles bled to death on the floor.


End file.
